


Lament, Lest Ye Fall to Dust

by KinoiTales



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Betrayal, Disfigurement, Explicit Language, Fantastic Racism, Good W. D. Gaster, Human-Monster War (Undertale), M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Undertale, Smoking, Soul Bond, Soul Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Torture, Warrior Rudy (Deltarune), Wartime Grillby (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-18 04:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17573540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinoiTales/pseuds/KinoiTales
Summary: War, as Death's herald, is a strange and wondrous thing. In its own unique deleterious way it is both judge and jury, passing sentences unto all regardless of creed or privilege. Like a disease for which there is no cure, it spreads unchecked and spares none terror, grief, and despair without equal.Might it be possible for this, a catalyst of destruction, to unify? To deepen bonds?Herein lies twin tales of kinship among four distinct souls, forged by trials and tribulations of mortal coil.





	1. Four Walks of Life, Converge

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks for giving this a try. I mean that. This work is a constant work in progress, with various elements not yet set in stone. That being said, before we go any further, I want to lay out some of the details that I am certain of: namely, the endgame pairings in mind.
> 
> I find myself a bit hesitant advertising this as one of the first Asgordy (Asgore/Rudy) works, if not the first of this kind. I was partially motivated to write this because of Rudy's introduction into the franchise... as well as by the simple fact that I became a devoted Asgordy shipper the moment I interacted with Rudy in Deltarune. Still, I couldn't help but wonder what his character could have been like if he existed in the Undertale universe.
> 
> Apart from that... well, I'm just your friendly neighborhood Grillster shipper. It should also be known that I adhere to the headcanon that Grillby and Gaster are as much fathers as Asgore and Rudy are, though such details are for the most part inconsequential in this story.
> 
> I guess that wraps things up. So without further ado, let's go on with the show, shall we?

“All hands on deck! Keep 'er steady!”

The hooded figure grimaced, barely able to make out the sailors' shouts as rainwater continued to beat heavy and torrential upon the ship deck overhead. Tossed, turned, and famished—it was a most telling sign of the times that one should be reduced to traveling under such loathsome conditions. Stowed away on a dingy, bound for the western monster capital, on official business no less: while there was no expectation that his journey would see him pampered, success of the endeavor ought to be a guarantee.

Flicking rainwater from his muzzle with a cloven knuckle, the monster sighed. More droplets began to pelt him from above. The vessel had doubtless sprung a leak, he mused, before shaking his head to confirm his suspicions. Rivulets scattered from his tawny antlers and splattered against nearby crates and cargo. 

He chuckled. So much for any paper goods bound for port. He wanted so badly to close his eyes and sleep, but odds were doing so could prove perilous in his current situation. Besides, he had yet to prepare for the next and final leg of his journey. Once docked, after sneaking off the ship, he would do his utmost to keep on the alert. If rumors were to be trusted, the state of affairs in the castle town had regressed horribly, a shell of the thriving commercial center it once was.

Normally, he wasn't one to trust rumors. He always confirmed things with his own two eyes and ears. At the same time, these days one simply couldn't leave things to chance.

 _Better safe than sorry._ He made to stretch his hocks across the floorboards when another wave crashed against the ship's hull, sending the monster's back smack into a large wooden box. His vision swayed to his right hand, which instinctively held fast to a scroll he'd forgotten he'd been reading.

The monster's brows knitted in consternation, briefly, as he replaced the document within the confines of his tunic. Finally, gradually, the violent rocking of the craft began to still.

While gentle beams of light peaked in through the holes on deck, the monster's expression darkened. Moments passed before he found his voice, which was colored with bitterness and augur as he addressed the tranquility of dusk.

“...Soon.”

\-----

Pastel colors of the setting sun dusted the canopies of rows of trees outlining the private resplendent meadows. The golden rays dyed the auburn stones of the castle walls a pleasant rose hue. At the center of the courtyards stood an equally colorful cast of characters: monsters of noble stature and esteem, clad in their gayest robes.

One particularly towering figure poised at the front of the collective cleared his throat, commanding the attention of all present. The droll of fierce whispers became mum as the monster lifted his mighty, wizened head and opened his mouth to speak.

“Friends and allies, praise be yours for hastening to my side in what very well may be monsterkind's darkest hours,” he scanned the faces in the group before continuing. “In the past, only felicitous occasions had seen us gathered together in this fashion. But today is a watershed point, a decision of monumental import is set before us, one which will certainly determine the fate of our race for generations to come.

“As you all know, some time has passed since humans made their declaration of war upon us official. While their reasons for doing so have been a matter of speculation, there is no denying the severity of their resolve to see this, their malicious agenda, to an end. They slander us, condemn us, and have escalated in enacting violence against innocent monsters on low and high.

“I acted as any ruler of sound mind and soul would: by meeting their call to arms in kind. So far, small armies have seen skirmishes and guerrilla combat, and casualties have been thankfully few. But the humans' hatred runs deep, and it is only a matter of time before empires unite against monsterkind and battles increase in scale. Soon, our very existence will be placed in jeopardy.”

Those in attendance gasped collectively, murmuring among themselves. A small brown rabbit monster hopped forward before the horned speaker, curtseying in deference. “Your Majesty, permission to speak.”

“Proceed.”

“I'm certain I speak for all here when I say that we are prepared to stand united with the royal family against the human menace,” she began, her upper lip curled into a sneer. “We will not tolerate such treatment of our kin, come hell or high water.”

“You have my gratitude. I believe our next course of action should be the conscription of all able-bodied monsters within the immediate provinces forthwith—”

“Father, if I may.”

All eyes fell upon the speaker to the leader's right. Give or take a few heads short of his sire, the youthful monster cut a handsome figure as his deep purple mantle fluttered in the breeze. Where the former sported silver his mane was a brilliant blonde. His prominent horns, bone-white and smooth, had not yet grown gnarled by the passage of time, and his unflinching gaze was gentle like the morning calm.

“Asgore my son, is there something that you wish to add to these proceedings?”

“Not add so much as inquire, father. What of the factions of monsters who sympathize with humans? Or conversely, those humans who champion our cause?”

The elder's brow creased. “I am loath to render kindness unto any human in these trying times. We cannot risk displaying any behavior which could be construed as weakness. As for monsters siding with humans, I find the mere suggestion preposterous. Monsters stand to gain nothing from allying with humans.”

“Should they not be dealt with on a case-by-case basis, though? Surely neither one is outside the realm of possibility...”

Asgore struck a defiant pose, his expression pleading, softly. His father refused to budge however and returned the look with a downward leer of his own. 

“As reigning king, my word is law,” his voice, a sneer, dropped in volume, chilly and dripping with venom. “And I shall condone no such thing.”

“Father—”

“No leniency will be granted to any man or woman, be they old or young. Do I make myself clear?”

Asgore's shoulders sagged, defeated. “...Understood.”

“This gathering is adjourned. I shall accompany the royal messengers to deliver a formal decree to the townships and hamlets surrounding the capital, as well as the major urban centers further afield. I entrust you, my subjects, with the task of passing my message unto the populaces under your jurisdiction.”

The junior, sore, did an about-face, seeking nothing more than to slink away, but was prevented from doing so by a large furred hand clasping his shoulder. “And crown prince Asgore will handle all household affairs in my absence.”

“Yes, father.”

\-----

Doctor Wingdings Gaster had no business in the backwoods of society.

He'd no business among the sordid masses. He'd no business on horseback, either, but the alternative entailed aching tarsals. Needless to say, real physical exhaustion was one more thing he just was not keen on.

Alas, here his was... surrounded by outdoors-monsters he ordinarily would not socialize with, verdant grasses and rolling hills stretching far into the horizon, dyed russet by the dying light of the day. The menials leading his mount projected their time of arrival to coincide with the setting of the sun, yet they trudged on at such a languished pace, as though they were dragging their proverbial heels. 

Surely they were lying through their teeth.

Gaster rolled his eyelights for the umpteenth time that day. He had long since tired of having his bones rattled by the constant up-and-down of the horse's gait. “You spoke so convincingly earlier of the relative smoothness of our journey, but I find our pace lacking and insufficient. By my rough calculations, there's no chance we'll make it in the time allotted to us.”

Though he was addressing no one in particular, a cyclops monster shot him a hard sidelong glare with her one eye, silencing any other snide remarks from the skeleton.

“Dat so?”

“I'm not cut out for this sort of thing.” The scientist scratched his vertebrae, face lowered sheepishly.

“Y'hear dat, ev'ryone? The good docta ain't satisfied wit' our pace.”

A speckled hound monster sauntered up beside his saddle, his eyes gleaming with mirth. When he spoke, his tone was coy. “Well fancy that! What's wrong, skelly? Too much trouble to exert yerself way out here in the hicks?”

“I bet he had servants at his beck and call back in the capital,” an amphibious creature quipped, puffing his air sac with mock pride. “He's one of those self-important types, no two ways about it.”

“Listen here, you rough-scrabble lot: not a one of you simpletons could fathom the significance of my work! Unlike you insufferable nitwits who have never passed a day productively in your lives, my contributions to monsterkind's livelihood have been recognized by the royal family—how dare you speak of self-importance. The very least you could do is your jobs—urk!”

Gaster's ranting was cut short as he was jerked abruptly from his seat, horse rearing in fright. It whinnied loud and launched into a spirited galloped, propelling the skeleton monster flush against its mane. Gaster could only cling to the reigns for dear life as the poor creature barreled forward in blind panic. Thankfully, he'd somehow had the presence of mind to manifest an extra set of hands to force his thighbones fast to the saddle.

His eyes dimmed against the winds buffeting his skull; smudges of green rushed past in the periphery of his sight, mixing with hemp as the horse collided with and subsequently trampled heavens-knows-what underfoot. Between the jostling and bucking, The skeleton was vaguely aware of angry buzzing—voices shouting, perhaps? It mattered little: the world as he presently knew it was reduced to a dizzying flurry of turbulent shakes and shudders. 

“Easy! Easy there, girl!” a hiss pierced the chaos, staying the violent fore and aft motions of the braying mare, at least to a degree. She snorted, gave a final plaintive neigh and whipped her neck side to side, beating the earth with her hooves. Intense pounding gave way to shuffling and finally, finally, Gaster stopped moving. His senses returned little by little, coupled by the sensation of something pleasantly warm covering his phalanges. Light returned to his eye sockets only when he dared breathe once more. It was then he was met with a most curious—and unwelcome—sight.

Consoling his horse by way of gentle clicking noises was a burning being, flames a radiant orange and red beacon in the twilight.


	2. Shadows Cast by Fire's Light

Gaster cradled his cheekbones in his palms, visibly weary. Resident medics withdrew their healing energies from his frame and bowed out of the tent; assuring him swift recovery with rest. He thanked them weakly with a passing wave of the hand and plopped down upon one of the platoon's sorry excuses for a cot.

He blinked. Yes, sleep would be ideal at a time like this, despite the early hour. But vexation tugged incessantly at his soul, leaving him restless. Ordinarily, this whole fiasco with the horse would have been forgotten, especially as it saw him to his destination in record time. Gaster didn't even bat an eyelight when his entourage confessed to having startled his mount into charging off into the brigade's main encampment.

He couldn't be angry at their shortsightedness, no. That didn't stop him from lamenting the sheer stupidity of it all.

There however was one thing that rubbed him the wrong way about the situation, or more specifically, its denouement. Mortification gave way to frustration as he replayed the final scenes in his mind.

A rumble sounded from the entrance of the tent, rousing the skeleton.

“Doctor Wingdings Gaster...?” Cautiously, the speaker ducked inside. One glimpse of fire idly licking the air was all it took to sour the other monster's mood.

 _Speak of the devil._ “Yes, what is it?”

“It's a relief to see you in high spirits after that ordeal.”

The skeleton snorted, his razor-sharp glare directed beyond the fiery figure's shoulder. “She would have calmed down eventually, you know. Your interference was not necessary.”

“At the time, you looked like you were seconds away from falling off the saddle,” the elemental monster's flames crackled yellow in good humor. “Besides, I was not about to neglect my duties.”

“Such as?” Gaster could feel his patience wearing thin; his response had been a tad more curt than he would have liked, but it couldn't be helped. He crossed his arms. Was it too much to ask for him to read the atmosphere?

“For one thing, I certainly can't have my men conducting themselves so poorly. Especially when their conduct puts you in harm's way.”

“Why do you care?”

The fire man frowned and quirked his brow line. “Because I'm in charge of this brigade. I'm responsible for everyone's safety, including yours.”

Gaster did a double-take and scrambled to the edge of the mattress. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Speaking of which, I haven't had the opportunity to introduce myself. You can call me Grillby.”

“Surely you jest,” Gaster clenched his jaw closed, one side upturned in an incredulous smirk of sorts.

“Jest? I don't think you're capable of pronouncing my actual name, though. Think of it as a convenient alternative.”

“No, not that! I don't care two wits about your name. You honestly mean to tell me that you, _an elemental_ , is head of this operation?”

Silence settled between the two, heavy like midwinter snow. Grillby cocked his head, molten eyes scrutinizing the doctor for several tense moments. “Ah... I see. It never occurred to me that one so distinguished could be a racist. Live and learn, I suppose.”

“Racist, me? I'm nothing of the sort. It's simply a known fact that elementals are unruly freeloaders, parasites among monsterkind who tarnish our reputation as a whole.”

“Have you ever made the acquaintance of an elemental?”

“No, but—”

The fire man shifted his weight to one hip and cast his gaze left. This situation was sadly all too common. Why wasn't he used to this by now?

He turned to the exit. “Here I was doing my damnedest to be sociable... Listen, I'm not going to waste my time trying to change your mind or anything. But as long as you're in my custody, I'm going to ask that you try to be civil and, well, _reasonable_. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to cool off before I lose my temper.”

Before Gaster could get another word in edgewise, the elemental strut through the partitions and took his leave. The skeleton huffed and balled his fists tight as he fought back the urge to bound after him. If there was one thing the elemental was right about, it was that things were sure to get ugly if he pressed the matter further.

Besides, it wasn't like he had anything to prove to this Grillby fellow. He would show his true colors soon enough.

...Even if the sinking feeling in the pit of his soul suggested otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: What's the appeal of the "Badster" motif, anyway? I'm totally going for 100% pure pre-Dadster in this story!  
> Also me: *Makes Gaster a racist.* ...My finger slipped.
> 
> Sorry this is so short. I was originally going to include the next bit for Asgore and Rudy here as well, but in the end it felt more appropriate as a standalone. Look forward to that next time.


End file.
